Forests of stone, glass and light. The truth cries out in the night. Dearest oatmeal, Sometimes we fail to be whom we need to be. Sometimes trepidation assumes form and takes judgment. I need you to ASK yourself, Can I trust this voice?
Discover the self, And feel for what you say, Does it strengthen my position or fragment it?
This world full of thunder, Awaits someone more than you. Someone outside the domain of opaque Predispositions. Someone ready to tender, and accept the world for its stench, and will enough the courage to make it better.